


Close Quarters

by knot_eloquent



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst and Humor, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Hand & Finger Kink, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Slow Burn, Threesome - M/M/M, im goin through it, im sorry there are so many feelings, so so many feelings, some philosophy and deep life shit i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knot_eloquent/pseuds/knot_eloquent
Summary: Something blunt collided with the wall, the crash causing the hairs on the back of Felix's neck to rise. A flash of anger rose in him as he relived an all-too familiar scenario from his academy days. The boar had broken something again, most likely. When you were as big and stupid as Dimitri, all the world was a china shop. It was a miracle he didn't break his nose every time he sneezed."DAMNATION!" roared his Highness. Felix's patience snuffed out."SHUT THE HELL UP, BOAR!" he yelled across the wall. "ARE YOU TRYING TO AVENGE THE DEAD -- OR WAKE THEM?"Tense silence. Was it just his imagination, or had the room suddenly gone cold? Against his better judgment, Felix found himself leaning closer to the wall, curious. What in Seiros' name had Dimitri broken that had him howling as loudly and discordantly as Ferdinand at a choir service?Two jaunty raps sounded in succession on Dimitri's door. Then, no more. Sylvain's knock was as noncommittal as his approach to relationships.---Or: The walls at Garreg Mach are thin and so is Felix's patience with his childhood friends.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fradalrius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 144





	Close Quarters

\---

Close Quarters

In Faerghus and beyond, the swordsman Felix Hugo Fradalrius had a reputation for being somewhat of a lone wolf. He fought better without the distraction of allies getting in the way of his sword.

On the hellscape of Gronder Field, though, it was different—the dust in the air and the bodies in swarming disarray. Three armies colliding against each other with the full force of a divine vendetta.

Dimitri had come for Edelgard's head, but was met with Claude's forces as well. Any trace of sympathy the house leaders had for each other in their academy days had been bitterly shoved aside for the glory of their convictions, the tantalizing opportunity to see long-held visions manifested into the world. Each wanted to be Fodlan's New Dawn, and so all were willing to endure the blinding night of war. It was chaos defined. On that field, there were no enemies, no allies.

Felix swung his Blade of Zoltan at wave after wave of soldiers, slicing off spearheads and slugging mages mid-incantation with steel gauntlets. Usually, Felix reveled in the thrill of the fight, basking in the power of his body, the _rush_ of consecutive victories making him nimble and light, but even he felt his resolve waver when the faces he cut down were ones he recognized.

After he'd seen Hilda from The Golden Deer shot down by one of Ashe's arrows, he decided that he'd had enough. Felix ran back to Byleth, who was giving orders from a vantage point in the center of the field.

"Professor," he yelled over the carnage "We've secured the eastern end of the field! The Alliance forces are retreating."

Byleth met her lone general's eyes with an impenetrable gaze, nodding in acknowledgment. "I called a retreat in the west as well, but Dimitri..." she turned towards the other end of the field, where soldiers still clashed in a writhing mass.

Felix made to run off, but Byleth gripped his shoulder.

"Don't go alone. Wait for Sylvain, at least."

Felix growled and violently shrugged off her hand. She was always doing that -- making him follow Sylvain into battle.

"Sylvain is better built for defense. He can lure them in, take the hit," she'd say, "then you strike them down."

Defense and offense. You give and you take. Felix sneered. He hated that more than anything. He didn't need _anyone_ to take hits for him -- least of all his incredibly irritating and weak childhood friend.

He fought through lines of men, some who raised a challenge, others who fled when they saw the flash of the Major Crest of Fradalrius. He spotted Dimitri, fighting near the barricades alone and _winning_ as he unleashed his terrifying rage with Areadhbar. _Shit. Where was Dedue? Why had he left the king_ alone?

Men crowded around Dimitri on all sides, digging into his chest and legs with spears and knives like fleas on a dog. Dimitri fought on, voice bellowing into hoarseness, limbs swinging as if he didn't even _feel_ his wounds.

“Dimitri!” Felix hadn’t noticed Sylvain arrival. Sylvain’s armor was covered in blood and cinder, and his horse was foaming at the lips from exhaustion. Sylvain didn’t look too hot himself, either. Hard lines of fear had set themselves into his usually refined face.

“We have to stop him, Felix.” As if that wasn’t obvious enough, but the desperation in Sylvain’s voice was electricity on Felix’s nerves. “I’ll go in first.”

“Like hell you will—” Felix shouted, but Sylvain had already taken off, hurtling towards Dimitri like the lunatic bastard he was.

He watched as Sylvain collided with the outer ring of forces surrounding Dimitri, picking off the foot soldiers with ease from his mount. Felix had to concede that Sylvain had improved considerably since their time at the academy. He had always been good, but his layabout ways at school ensured he would never be anything more than an interesting diversion for Felix and Dimitri in the training ring. The war had forced Sylvain’s latent talent for combat into blossom, and the results were spectacular to behold. After all, Sylvain could skip practice, but he couldn’t skip an invasion.

Predictably, about half of the soldiers swarming Dimitri turned around, advancing on Sylvain and Felix in yelling droves. They pitched forward in a wave of crimson and black.

An infantryman lashed out at Sylvain’s horse, knocking brutally into its legs with his shoulder. Felix watched the exhausted animal stumble forward, pitching its rider towards the opponent’s waiting spear.

Sylvain twisted aside to avoid the brunt of the blow, but Felix heard the sickening crunch of the spear drive through Sylvain’s shoulder piece.

 _Seiros be damned. This_ was why he fought _alone._

Felix was there within seconds, blade crashing through bodies with the exceeding precision of a master swordsman who’d lived every day of his life in pursuit of martial perfection. He cut down the spear wielder attacking Sylvain with ease, and moved onto the hoards Sylvain had drawn to them. Felix weaved through panicked blows like water through stone, striking back with frightening efficiency.

For every blow they landed, Felix dealt two.

The battlefield cleared rapidly as bodies fell to the ground and men beat a hasty retreat from the two Crest-wielding officers. But just as the battle ebbed into some form of comprehensibility, Sylvain crashed into the dirt from his saddle, sending up dust that made Felix’s eyes water. He barely dodged Sylvain’s terrified steed as it galloped past him, away from whatever had sent his rider into the ground.

A bulk of darkness emerged from the flurry. Dimitri’s face was wild and contorted, pupils constricted to pinpoints in his haunted smoke-blue eyes. The broken body of a soldier laid before him, at the end of a trailing rut of earth stemming from his feet.

It was almost as if Dimitri had _thrown_ him.

Felix looked to Sylvain, and understanding dawned. The careless, callous _fool_.

Felix hated Dimitri so much in that moment that it actually _burned_. This was the _thing_ his brother had given his life for -- a witless _beast_ who walked the earth blind to the living because he had already given himself over to the dead.

If Dimitri wanted to die so badly, Felix would kill him himself.

He planted feet in the ground, pulled back his right fist, and launched his gauntlet squarely into the jaw of his Highness.

Dimitri staggered back, a ribbon of blood falling from his lips.

"SCREW YOU, BOAR!" The catharsis of the punch face swept Felix back to his senses. He swiveled around him and wrapped his arms under Dimitri’s, binding the snarling king against his chest. "WHAT GOOD ARE YOU _DEAD_?"

Felix dragged a thrashing Dimitri to the ground, wrecked gauntlets falling to the side in a twisted heap -- a testament to the strength of the Blaiddyd jawline.

Unfortunately, Dimitri was bigger and stronger than Felix, always had been -- even when they were kids. All he had to do was get one hand square over Felix's chest and _push_. Felix was sent flying backward into a tree.

Dimitri took off, running after Edelgard and the retreating Imperial army like a madman cut loose.

"Felix..." Sylvain's voice fought with the ringing in his head. "Are you alright?" Felix felt himself being hoisted upright and held against the familiar swerve of Sylvain's neck. Sylvain smelled of dirt and blood and sweat beneath the aromatic floral of his cologne. His shoulder was bleeding, and his face was covered in dust, but he looked no worse for wear. _Typical._

"I'm fine." Felix pushed Sylvain off of him, recoiling slightly at the other man's hurt expression. "You're not the only one who can take a hit, you know." 

Sylvain's scarlet brows furrowed, his expression infuriatingly concerned like _Felix_ was the one who needed to be saved.

"I'm sorry. It's just that...you're crying, Felix."

\---

And then his father died. Trying to save Dimitri. Just as Glenn had. Giving up his one and only material life for meaningless, abstract _concepts_. Duty. Sacrifice. _Bullshit._

 _Chivalry begets the worship and glorification of death. Am I alone in finding that grotesque?_ Everything ends with death, even dreams. All of his father’s lofty hopes for restoring kingdom died with his ability to realize them. How could you accomplish anything when you’re lying cold and buried under the earth?

In the silence of his bedroom, mere days after the battle, Felix’s head was dense with mourning. The loss he felt went much deeper, hurt so much more, than just Rodrigue’s passing. What had his father been trying to save, anyway? Felix recalled Dimitri’s crazed eyes, his retreating back as the rift between him and his allies grew with each unflinching, possessed step. Did his father really believe this madman was the savior of the kingdom? How could Dimitri save anyone when he was running _away_ from Fhirdiad, _away_ from the people who needed him? _Away_ from Felix?

Yet, Felix had kept close. Had returned to the monastery after five years of ceaseless war. Had gone after Dimitri like a ridiculous dog on a leash. He didn’t want to think about the hours he’d spent behind the column in the cathedral, watching the fallen king mutter his regrets to the dead. The only time the boar looked at peace was when he slept, fur mantle draped over a powerful bulk in the moonlight, sometimes in the pews, more often sprawled across the stone floor as if he'd simply fallen over in place of where he stood.

Perhaps Felix understood more about his father than he realized.

\---

Before Felix was a lone wolf, he was an adoring puppy at Dimitri's side.

In those days, Felix was just a naive kid living in his brother's shadow, and Dimitri was a golden-maned boy who could swing a lance with such ferocity that he regularly left Gilbert limping home after practice.

Felix's breath made chilled puffs in the air as he leapt away from the wooden spear that came charging into his periphery. Dimitri drew back for a moment, fine leather gloves pulling his spear towards his chest as if to guard. Felix could see through the feint, though. And sure enough, the prince sprung forward, propelled by the momentum of his back foot. 

Felix neatly dodged the hit, but Dimitri continued to thrust, slamming his spear with exacting, practiced strokes through the air, his blue eyes alight with adrenaline. Felix's heart bombarded his ribs, his body feeling light and strong. Only Dimitri could make him feel this way: make his blood run hot and his arms want to punch something so hard that it left a mark.

"You're here," Felix gasped after they'd worn each other out, the two of them lay heaving on the training grounds' dirt floor. "I thought you were busy today."

Dimitri laughed, strong and bright. "I am, but I couldn't leave after seeing you standing out here all alone."

Felix was unable to hide his smile as he stood up, brushing off his hands before holding them out to help Dimitri up. "Come on, let's get dinner before Ingrid gets to all of it."

"She'll be too busy wringing out Sylvain. I saw him telling the chefs she wanted diet portions." Dimitri reached out to take his hand, then stopped, eyes going flat and serious.

"Felix, have you been fighting barehanded this whole time?" Dimitri pulled his wrist in closer, blissfully unaware of the effect it had on Felix’s exploding chest. He splayed Felix's fingers open and revealing the cracked, bleeding blisters that marked his palms. The cold, dry air must have exacerbated the callouses.

Felix quickly pulled his hand back, looking away from Dimitri's face.

"I dropped my gloves in the woods yesterday. I was going to borrow Glenn's, but he and Father rode out early this morning." Felix felt his face inflame. "Anyway, I'm fine. It's just a few scratches, relax. Just worry about yourself."

Felix gazed at the flagstone floor, willing the moment to be over. When he found the courage to look up again, Dimitri was staring at him with such intensity in his blue eyes that it made Felix feel like all the air had been squeezed out of him.

Wordlessly, Dimitri began to tug at the edges of his own sea blue gloves, finger by slender finger, pulling the leather into loose hoods that slid off of his pale skin like grains of sand over ice. Felix sputtered in protest, but was silenced at once by Dimitri's glare – alive and burning hot like a spear being pulled from the forge.

Gently, Dimitri took Felix's hand in his again, his gaze never leaving Felix. He pulled the glove over Felix's fingers, enveloping them in the silky-softness of the fur lining. It was still warm with Dimitri's body, making Felix ache for something he couldn't put into words.

When it was done, Dimitri sat back and smiled beatifically, holding out his other glove to Felix.

"Need me to put this one on too?"

\---

A nightmarish roar from the next room woke Felix from restless slumber. He must have fallen asleep against the wall while sharpening his blade. It was a familiar ritual he found comfort in – sorely needed, after the recent events at Gronder.

He breathed in, out. Picked up the whetstone, and ran it over the sharp edge of the blade, losing himself in the perfect simplicity of its lines. And stopped.

The roar. Had Dimitri returned to sleeping in the dorms? Perhaps the battle had taken its toll on him too. Without meaning to, Felix found himself waiting.

Something blunt collided with the wall, the crash causing the hairs on the back of Felix's neck to rise. A flash of anger rose in him as he relived an all-too familiar scenario from his academy days. The boar had broken something again, most likely. When you were as big and stupid as Dimitri, all the world was a china shop. It was a miracle he didn't break his nose every time he sneezed.

"DAMNATION!" roared his Highness. Felix's patience snuffed out.

"SHUT THE HELL UP, BOAR!" he yelled across the wall. "ARE YOU TRYING TO AVENGE THE DEAD -- OR WAKE THEM?"

Tense silence. Was it just his imagination, or had the room suddenly gone cold? Against his better judgment, Felix found himself leaning closer to the wall, curious. What in Seiros' name had Dimitri broken that had him howling as loudly and discordantly as Ferdinand at a choir service?

Desperately, Felix wanted to go to the next room and interrogate the boar, but the image of Dimitri’s retreating back was still fresh in his memory, paralyzing every limb of his body with apprehension.

It was none of his business anyway.

Two jaunty raps sounded in succession on Dimitri's door. Then, no more. Sylvain's knock was as noncommittal as his approach to relationships. Felix heard something metallic being hurled into a far corner of Dimitri's room before the creak of the opening door.

"...evening...Highness...alright...?" came Sylvain's muffled voice.

Felix was glad that Sylvain was the one handling the beast this time. It didn't seem to bother Sylvain as much when Dimitri inevitably spurned him. Sylvain was an idiot, but Felix had to admire his composure. Sylvain could walk away from a guillotine and still have his head on straight.

"It's none of your concern, Sylvain," came Dimitri's voice from next door, gravelly and dark, although something about it seemed more half-hearted than usual. "Leave me be." And then the door slammed.

Felix wasn't even the one it happened to, but he _felt_ that. _Stop calling for him, you idiot,_ he pleaded silently to Sylvain. _Save yourself the pain._

But Sylvain was Sylvain, and instead of the sound of departing footsteps, Felix heard the distinct clicking of a lock being picked. Felix wondered when Ashe had given him lessons, and if he understood the ramifications of teaching lock-picking to _Sylvain_.

Felix could hear Sylvain push the door aside and enter Dimitri's room, his voice light and jokey the way it gets when he's trying to smooth over a potentially awkward situation. Dimitri paid him no heed – balking at the sudden intrusion into his territory and snarling threats at Sylvain that Felix knew he could keep. Years of experience sparring with Dimitri told Felix that the creaks of Dimitri shifting his weight on the floorboard meant he was ready to pounce.

If Sylvain was bold enough to enter the den of the king of lions, then he'd better be prepared for a fight. There was a reason why you never saw more than one male lion to a pride. Most of them lived alone, unless they were a king. Lions didn't do well in close quarters.

He hoped Sylvain wasn't putting his bets on Felix coming to his rescue again.

Felix heard a thick slam on the other side of the wall, where Dimitri's bed was positioned. The old springs of the mattress chittered with a heavy weight as it was sunken into suddenly.

A scuffle erupted – irregular thumps and booms shook the wall as Dimitri and Sylvain raged for dominance. Sylvain should give up. He _was_ strong; Felix had seen the improvements in Sylvain's upper body since the professor put him on Axe and Heavy Armor, but a pretty pair of pecs wasn't going to do shit against a royal warrior bloodline. Sylvain's arms were big, but not as big as the boulders Dimitri carried up and down mountains for training.

The floor trembled troublingly, and Felix knew that one of them had fallen. Dimitri's growled followed like a ball of thunder – deep and guttural and threatening. Sylvain was breathing hard. Felix waited to hear Sylvain yield.

Or so he thought, until the grunts of effort that came climbing out of Dimitri's throat melted into moans of an entirely different kind of exertion. 

Felix felt his face heat up as he pressed his ear up against the wall, transfixed by the hitched breaths and soft moans emanating from the room next door. It was interspersed with the flap and crinkle of sheets being thrown aside and the scandalously soft, yet unmistakably wet smacks of lips making contact with skin again and again.

 _Seiros in Heaven. Fuckfuckfuck_. It wasn't so much as the fact that he was listening to Sylvain _fucking_ that upset him. Felix knew what Sylvain sounded like when he fucked, having been on the receiving end of said fucking on occasion. He and Sylvain had always been comfortable with each other, after all, and Felix had always had a soft spot for Sylvain, who could be so goddamn sincere sometimes it pained Felix to even watch him _live_.

It was the fact that Sylvain was fucking _Dimitri_. Sure, they might not have been as close as they once were; Felix could take partial credit for that. But it was as if the narrow telescopic tube through which he saw the world had suddenly cracked and fallen from his eyes, transforming two of the people Felix thought he knew best into perfect strangers who stood at a distance much, much further from him than he dared realize.

Not terribly surprising of the boar, who’d masqueraded as a proper prince for years before revealing his true, beastly nature.

But Sylvain? It felt like a betrayal.

\---

Relationships were strange, defined by giving and taking – push and pull. When it came to intimacy, there was art in finding the balance between getting close enough for contact, but not too close to risk getting hurt.

“It’s about spacing,” Byleth instructed, pulling her training gauntlets up to her face, “you want to stay out of your enemy’s range of attack, but still close enough to strike when you need to.”

“And I’m supposed to learn about range through _brawling_?” Felix sputtered. He’d resisted when Byleth, still an untested professor at the time, had told him he would be studying close combat. It was a baffling choice, considering Felix’s demonstrated proficiency with weapons. “Just put me on Bow,” he complained. His arms felt stubby and naked without a sword.

Byleth shook her head. “It’s not about maintaining a safe distance from the enemy, as Shamir teaches with archery. It’s about moving in and out of your opponent’s range at will. You’re strong and nimble, Felix, and you’ve got a mind for improvisation. Your sword skills would improve too if you learn how to fight in close quarters.”

“Lookin’ good, you two,” Sylvain strutted languidly onto the field with lance and training gear.

“Sylvain. Perfect timing,” said Byleth. “Do me a favor and spar with Felix, won’t you?”

“For a beautiful woman like you, Professor? Anything” Sylvain said, flashing a smile and a wink. Felix rolled his eyes.

“Are you crazy? He’s using a spear,” protested Felix. Dimitri’s face rose to his mind unbidden, bloodthirsty and terrible. He the memory out of his mind. “I won’t be able to get anywhere near him.”

“You can,” Byleth said firmly, “and you will.” She took a step back to give them room, raised an arm, and gave the signal to begin.

Sylvain swept outwards horizontally, spear arcing towards Felix’s legs with blinding speed. Felix leapt out of the way with ease, only to be met immediately by another vertical blow, launched downwards towards head. It was startlingly quick and accurate, as if Sylvain had predicted where Felix would land after his evasion. 

“Watch out, Fe. You’re at a disadvantage, but I’m not going to go easy on you.”

“Shut up and swing your spear before I shove it up your ass” Felix shot back. This was tricky. Not only was he out of range to launch an attack, Sylvain knew his movements well enough to anticipate them.

But then again, the same was true for Felix.

Sylvain chuckled and continued his assault, spinning the spear above his head with a flourish before bringing it down into a series of quick, forward thrusts that kept Felix dancing just outside the border of Sylvain’s circle of influence. Instead of moving forward to meet him, Felix took tiny steps back each time he evaded, maneuvering their position to his advantage. Sylvain never took proper care to defend himself. He was always too quick to lunge at his opponent, so confident and self-assured he could handle whatever offensive they might throw at him. _Let him come to you_ , Felix thought placidly, _let him think he’s in control_.

Step by step, Sylvain was unwittingly backed into corner of the arena. Felix could not hide his grin as Sylvain clicked his tongue in annoyance.

The next part would be easy, knowing how Sylvain acted when he was cornered. With deft precision, Sylvain took a step forward and lowered his body into striking stance, simultaneously sliding his hand forward towards the tip of the spear. Then, he _lunged_. It was an all-out strike, made to maximize force at the cost of control.

Felix closed the distance.

Once he got within close quarters with Sylvain, it was over. Felix met Sylvain’s blow against the side of his glove. Contact with the spearhead sent rippling vibrations through the gauntlets. A solid hit, if it had landed. Felix drew right his arm behind him, twisted his hips, and hooked Sylvain in the jaw.

“You are a _criminal_ ,” Sylvain gaped at him, hand cupping his swollen face, “for damaging this national _treasure_.”

Afterwards, Felix accompanied Sylvain Manuela’s office. He softly pressed a pack of ice into Sylvain’s cheek, delicately cupping his chin in his other hand. Sylvain’s smooth, tanned face was marred by a ruddy bruise. Manuela said it looked worse than it was, and it didn’t look too bad at all, if Felix was being honest.

“You’ve got some pretty eyelashes, Felix.”

“Could you _please_ stop flirting just for _one_ minute of the day?”

“I have a quota to fill,” Sylvain said, straight-faced but with a twinkle in his eye. “I was going to make some passes at the Professor, but then you were there and—”

“And you had to help out,” Felix said, tenderly adjusting the ice pack on his cheek. He didn’t notice how Sylvain’s eyes went runny and soft. “Thank you.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the dying light of the sun mirroring the pleasant warmth of Sylvain’s face in his palm.

“You’ll be prepared now, you know, if you ever go against him,” Sylvain said quietly.

“Who the hell are you talking about?”

“You know, Dimitri.”

Felix scoffed and pressed the ice pack in a little harder than he meant to, earning a yelp from Sylvain. “I don’t care about him. I’ve been avoiding him since the school year started.”

“Sure, sure,” Sylvain nodded. “You’ve said things like that before, when we were kids. Remember how you’d always come running to me when you and Dimitri fought?”

Felix didn’t respond.

\---

“Aw come on, Felix. She was just teasing, that’s all. It’s ‘cause she likes you”

“Funny way to show it,” grumbled Felix, slumping further against the marble bannister of a balcony in Fhirdiad Castle. He wasn’t sure which one. Everything was annoyingly bright and spinny, including the stupid smile on Sylvain’s face. Was he pleased that Felix had humiliated himself at his best friend’s birthday feast? He regretted the mystery liquor he’d let Sylvain pour into his drink.

At least he had the decency to help Felix hide from Dimitri, who had undoubtedly found out by now what Felix had said to the daughter of a major Alliance lord. He was probably roaming the party now in search of them.

“She told me I looked like her cat.”  
  
Sylvain snickered. “It was a compliment. She means that you’re cute.”

“She said that the cat had rabies.”

Sylvain burst into laughter.

“It’s not funny! They had to put it down.” Despite the admonishment, Felix couldn’t help the quirk that tugged at the edge of his lips.

“OK, so Hilda has a sense of humor, but you didn’t have to tell her off like that. There are easier ways to let a girl down,” Sylvain’s tone was more serious now, patient. Felix rolled his eyes. Sylvain thought that being two years older made him more mature than the rest of them, but also conveniently forgot that nobody wanted advice from a skirt-chasing sop.

“I was just telling her the truth. It’s her own fault if she couldn’t handle it.”

“You know, Felix. There are ways to tell people the truth without implying they’re a – what was it you said? – a limp poodle?”

“And how would you know?” Felix spat back. “You’re not exactly the next ‘Valbar The Honest’ yourself, _Sylvain_.” He knew he was being petty, but his heart was pounding and he was furious. Whose side was Sylvain _on_ , anyway?

But instead of reprimanding him or throwing up his arms and walking away, Sylvain considered Felix for a moment, lancing him with a steady, hazel gaze. Was there disappointment in those eyes? Worse yet, was there sympathy? Felix turned away, breaking eye contact.

As usual, it was Sylvain who broke the silence. “Sorry, pal. She overstepped her boundaries and made you uncomfortable. Let’s just forget it.” He put an arm around Felix’s shoulder and pulled him in close. Felix didn’t want to admit how comforting and warm it felt to be against his chest in the biting cold. “Let’s just try to have fun tonight. It’s the Blaiddyd Birthday Bash!”

Felix winced at Sylvain’s terrible wordplay -- and the mention of Dimitri, who was undoubtedly tracking them like prey as they spoke. Felix could hear cutlery crashing to the floor, followed by Dimitri’s earnest, stammering apologies. Puberty had hit them all hard, but Dimitri especially was having trouble getting used to the three inches in height he’d gained since summer.

His dancing, however, was unexpectedly competent.

“Felix. Sylvain. There you are.” Dimitri pulled open the glass doors of the balcony and stepped out. “It’s freezing out here.” Dimitri folded his arms over the fitted turquoise and gold tunic he’d donned for the evening – dashing, but not suited for a Faerghus winter. He stood slightly apart from Felix and Sylvain, a palpable wall of tension hanging between them.

“You two seem to be keeping warm, however,” observed Dimitri stonily. It was meant to lighten the mood, Felix knew, but there was curtness to Dimitri’s tone that belied his anger.

It was enough to earn a chortle from Sylvain, at least, who casually extricated himself from Felix, letting a chilly wind blow across Felix’s neck where his arm had been. Typical mercurial Sylvain: here one moment, gone the next. He’d probably make a hasty exit soon, with the way things were going. Felix felt his chest tighten at the prospect of having to face Dimitri alone.

Dimitri cleared his throat.

“Are you all enjoying the party?”

Felix couldn’t help the smirk that came to his lips. Even when chewing out his pathetic childhood friends for interfering with extremely important matters of state, Dimitri had to make sure everyone was comfortable first. He was too magnanimous for his own good, which was going to make this lecture all the more excruciating.

He was about to tell Dimitri to get on with it until Sylvain cut in– “If I may, Your Highness, address the issue concerning Duke Goneril’s daughter?”

Dimitri paused for a moment, startled that Sylvain had beat him to the punch. He nodded at him to continue. Felix’s eyes bulged.

“While our friend Felix isn’t exactly known for his... abilities as a conversationalist, I want you to know that I was the one who persuaded him to galvanize her. I was interested in her, and I thought she would be more open to my advances if…” Sylvain hesitated, brows furrowed in concentration, “If…I got her heart rate up first! Yes. That was my plan. And it failed. Sorry.”

 _Seiros in Heaven_. Was there anything Sylvain _wouldn’t_ say? It was the type of bald-faced lie that wouldn’t even fool a child.

Luckily, they were talking to Dimitri. “Is that so?” answered the prince, looking more thoughtful than angry, to Felix’s great relief. “Perhaps I should employ this technique at the next roundtable of lords. I’ve often wondered what could make Father take my points more seriously. However, Sylvain,” continued Dimitri, remembering the topic at hand, “Lady Hilda didn’t seem to appreciate the gesture as well as you’d hoped, I’m afraid.”

Sylvain shrugged. “So Felix went a little overboard. Can you blame him? It was his first time flirting.” Felix began to mentally compose the condolences he’d offer Margrave Gautier after he’d _killed his insufferable son_.

“No, I have f-for _sure_! I just didn’t want to, that’s all,” Felix spluttered nonsensically, hot rays of embarrassment radiating across his face and neck. ”I can talk to girls! I can. I _know_ how to flirt,” he stated firmly and, he hoped, convincingly. His face was flush with embarrassment, and he could _feel_ Dimitri’s eyes on him.

Sylvain was absolutely _wrecked_ with laughter. Dimitri’s eyes went distant and hollow.

“It’s true that Felix can be rather blunt,” Dimitri acknowledged patiently. Felix squeezed his eyes shut, bringing his hands up to cover his burning face. How could he continue being friends with Dimitri after this?

“But he is charming, in his own way,” finished Dimitri gently, fondly.

Felix’s looked up, stunned to see that the prince’s face was graced by a soft smile, his blue eyes inviting and flaxen hair caught in the lights of the ball. He was so different now than he was before. Was this all because of Sylvain?

Dimitri took Felix’s hand into his. It was as warm and reassuring as he’d always known it to be. Felix felt a swelling in his chest he tried hard to push down.

“Oh, Felix. Don’t cry.” Dimitri said, taking Felix into his arms. Felix relished the rush of wholeness that flooded through him, his face against Dimitri’s collar and his waist securely ensconced in his firm embrace.

“I’m s-sorry,” he uttered, voice breaking. They were men nearly grown, yet in that moment, Felix felt like a puppy again, whimpering and desperate to stay by Dimitri’s side, come what may.

“It’s OK. I’m not mad anymore,” consoled Dimitri, “How could I be when I know that the big, bad Felix Fradalrius everyone’s talking about is actually just my crybaby best friend?”

“Stop teasing me!”

“I can’t help it,” Dimitri whispered, smile as lovely and warm as a wintertime hearth, “I like you.”

\---

Back in his room, Felix wondered if Sylvain and Dimitri had fucked before. And if they did, how he could have missed it. And now that he knew, what was he going to do about it?

 _Nothing, that's what_. It didn't matter, anyway. Whoever Sylvain "Ho's Bane" Gautier was hooking up with had been none of his fucking business before, why should it be any different now?

Dimitri let out a moan—long and full—from the next room. Felix flinched.

When they were finished, Sylvain spoke first. "You seem different lately, Your Highness," Felix's insides took on a warm gravity as he detected the irresistible sincerity in Sylvain's voice. Sincerity had always been his true charm -- Sylvain was such a liar and a flatterer most of the time that the moments he told the truth made you feel like you were discovering a man no one had ever seen before.

"Nothing escapes your notice, as usual." There was irony in Dimitri's voice. Felix was surprised by how calm and gentle it sounded. Human, almost. If he didn’t know better.

"No, no it doesn't," Sylvain said, gamely. Then, seemingly non sequitur, “I’m worried about Felix.” A jolt shot through Felix’s spine at the mention of his name.

To his surprise, Dimitri sighed. A pause pervaded the air like a stirring mist.

“Yes, about that,” Dimitri finally said, quietly.

Felix heard Dimitri walk over to the corner of the room, followed by the clang of loose metal parts jangling against each other. The broken object. Felix had almost forgotten about it.

"...Wait, is that...?" Sylvain's voice trailed off in a high lilt of incredulity. The wall against Felix’s cheek was solid and cold.

"Yes."

"The Professor's gonna _kill_ you," uttered Sylvain, voice filled with sympathy.

"Not if Felix gets to it first," Dimitri replied gravely.

If Felix hadn't studied covert espionage for his Assassin certification, he would have screamed.

He knew what Dimitri had broken. He knew it and he should have known it sooner and he was going to _kill_ Dimitri with his _bare hands_.

The Professor had asked Dimitri to drop by the blacksmith earlier that day to pick up the newly repaired weapons that were damaged at Gronder. One of the most valuable items among them was the Sword of Zoltan Felix had wielded during the battle. That sword was hundreds of years old, crafted by a legendary blade smith whose work stood peerless to all but the Holy Relics themselves. Byleth had used the last of their Wootz Steel to repair it.

And that big, _stupid_ fucking boar had broken it. _A_ _gain_.

Felix closed the distance.

He was on his feet, flying out of his room, into the hallway, and slamming open Dimitri's door before his next thought could even begin to form.

"You clumsy, meat-fisted _beast_."

"Felix! I-" Dimitri stood bare and enormous in the flickering candlelight of the small room, casting menacing shadows against the walls. Despite the surprise in his voice, he didn't move to cover himself, standing stately and unperturbed.

But it was not Dimitri’s lack of coverage that made Felix’s pulse quicken and his neck grow hot—it was his gaze.

Dimitri was looking at him. Looking _at_ him and not _through_ , for the first time in years. His left eye was clear—for once without the dark clouds that had obscured his mind for so long. A flash of that same eye, glimmering alongside its twin, on a snowy day in Fhirdiad flitted through Felix’s memory.

"Felix! How nice of you to join us," Sylvain chirped from the bed. He was lounging naked, draped in Dimitiri's fur cloak with his elbow propped under his head. "Have a seat?" Sylvain patted the spot beside him with encouraging aplomb. His copper locks were artfully tossed askew, with a few fine strands plastered with sweat against his forehead. His usually mischievous amber eyes were soft and golden in the candlelight, the shadows accentuating the length of his feathery lashes.

True to his priorities, Felix ignored him. "YOU BROKE MY FUCKING SWORD." He jabbed his finger accusingly at Dimitri.

"No, listen. Felix, I-" Dimitri attempted to explain, stopped and bit his lip, hesitating before looking up again at Felix with eyes full of—what was it—anger? Regret? Longing?

 _What the fuck did he think he was doing?_ Dimitri moved forward towards him, broad chest looming into his head space. Felix could see the tension Dimitri’s jaw, ready to snap and lash out at him for daring to come for him. Another punch in the gut. Another chance to run away. Reflexively, Felix crossed his arms across his chest.

Felix should have known it was a feint, though.

"I'm sorry," Dimitri said, so quiet and sad his heart creaked in his chest. Dimitri’s blunt elbows and well-muscled arms were held out in front of him, raised awkwardly in a gesture almost like supplication, but Felix knew better. Dimitri had lifted his arms to defend his chest, but had stopped himself from going into full guard. He was literally laying himself bare, to _Felix_.

Sometimes, we don’t put people at a distance to hurt them, but to protect ourselves. Felix’s mind flooded with a torrent of venomous insults and names he’d hurled at Dimitri in their academy days, how he’d wielded them like a hammer coming down on a wedge between them. Of course, he’d done it then deliberately. He’d done it because he needed to survive.

Because not everybody embraced the pain of loss like Dimitri did, let it cripple and rot them from the inside out until they were just husks in the wind. Felix put the distance between them to save _himself,_ because the boy he’d once loved had become a beast not worth saving.

And yet, up so close, why did he not look like the beast Felix knew him to be? Dimitri’s long hair hung limply over his downcast eyes, lips shining and pursed. He looked contrite, naïve. Young, like the boy in the snow who’d wrapped his blood-cracked hands in gloves of sea blue.

Felix stopped breathing, letting his senses and memories run together into streaming rivulets that puddled in the space between him and Dimitri. It dipped and contracted, pulling them together with the grim authority of gravity. Felix leaned in, pressing his face into Dimitri’s chest, wrapping his arms around the king’s strong waist. Dimitri’s chest was warm and comforting, and his heart was beating, beating against Felix’s cheek. A fragile heart. A human heart. A heart worth saving, despite how ragged and torn it had become.

“I’m sorry for losing sight of you,” Dimitri whispered into Felix’s hair, hands winding around his waist in reciprocity. He pressed his forehead to Felix’s, eyes moist with tears.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad anymore.” When Felix pulled back to look at him, Dimitri was staring back at him fondly.

Sylvain cleared his throat loudly, bringing them back to the present. “This is incredibly sweet and all, but does Your Highness plan on breaking the news about Felix’s ‘sword’”?

Felix’s gaze traveled downwards.

The sword, except it was not the sword at all.

"How...how did you break my _gauntlets_?" Felix ran his hands along the familiar steel of his left glove. The metallic outer portion that had been crushed by Dimitri's face during the battle was still intact—having been repaired by the blacksmith earlier—but the soft, leather underside of the gauntlet bore a lengthy rip from the base of the thumb along the wrist.

Dimitri attempted another apology. "I- Felix, you see-"

Felix stared at the gauntlet incredulously. "It almost looks like...like..." the words stopped at the edge of his lips and refused to leave his mouth.

"Like he put his dick in the gloves," said Sylvain, helpfully.

"No! NO!" Dimitri was suddenly roaring again. He grabbed Felix's wrists and looked into his eyes pleadingly. "I just tried them on -- with my _hand_. Just my hand. I swear it on the graves of the dead who haunt me." 

Felix couldn’t help but join in on Sylvain’s chortle. Leave it Dimitri to make a dick joke _heavy_.

Felix looked down at the lengthy fingers that encircled his wrists, Dimitri's broad palms hot against his skin. _Fucker really does have big hands, though_. And the thought of him, of _Dimitri_ , having slipped these fingers into the soft, inner linings of Felix's gauntlet so intimately, sliding against it, stretching it, flexing to find the warmth it once held...it was more than he could bear. Felix felt himself grow hot and tight, suddenly very aware of the bareness of the man in front of him.

A broad, familiar warmth pressed up against his back. “You know, I was wondering when you'd join us, Felix.” Sylvain’s voice was the barest tickle against his ear as he wrapped thick, bronzed arms around Felix's middle. “This dorm’s got thin walls, don’t you think?” Felix immediately felt the cloth around his boxers tighten. Goddamn _fucking_ stupid sexy Sylvain.

“Not now, Sylvain,” Felix breathed helplessly, although he could feel the blood rushing up his face and neck.

“Hmmm…? You’re going to turn down a romp from _me_? _And_ His Highness? Even after I went through the trouble of preparing him for you?” Sylvain's slick tongue brushed against the whorls of Felix's ear as the thought of being fucked raw by the king of Faerghus crossed his mind.

“Actually, Sylvain, we haven’t applied the lube yet,” offered Dimitri, also helpfully.

“Shut up, you stupid beast. He didn’t mean it like that.” Felix cocked a grin and glanced back at Sylvain, who returned his smile knowingly.

Felix placed his palm to Dimitri's chest, and _pushed_ him onto the bed.

When it was over, Felix turned to Sylvain.

"Thank you," he breathed, taking in Sylvain's handsome, cocky smile juxtaposed against the warmth in his laughing eyes.

"What for?"

"For...bringing him back." It was the closest Felix could come to vocalizing the truth. _For being you. For always watching over us and throwing yourself in the line of fire when I'm too damned scared to get_ _in close. For softening him, softening_ us _, so that we could_ _find the courage to let each other in._

But Felix didn't have to say it out loud for Sylvain to understand. After all, they'd been together since as far back as either of them could remember, and they'd made a promise as children to leave the world the same way.

Sylvain chuckled. "Defense and offense, right?" 

Felix smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Dimitri's head.

You give and you take. But you can't do it alone.

\---

The next day at breakfast, Dedue leaned over the table to whisper in Dimitri's ear. 

"Your Highness, about the fight that occurred in your room last night..."

_Fin_ _._

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you for reading my first fic. I am happy.
> 
> I'd like to thank my betas, E and R, as well as all my other friends for patiently entertaining my long-winded rants about a video game they don't even play.
> 
> I'd like to thank Sylvain Jose Gautier, in whose case my betas' feedback was simultaneously "More Sylvain" and "Less Sylvain," which is exactly how I feel about Sylvain in general so
> 
> I'd like to thank Felix Hugo Fradalrius, for being such a beautiful angry vessel on which to project my traumas.
> 
> And Dimitri Alexandork Blabladius, for being himself.


End file.
